Without You
by Cainneigh
Summary: When Wilson leaves PPTH, House overdoses on vicodin. Wilson returns, unable to leave House's side. House confesses his love for Wilson. Hilson House/Wilson. Incomplete.
1. A Death

"But I've been calling him for hours!" Cuddy complained.  
Chase looked at her in a rather annoyed way. "I already told you. He's probably just trying to make you mad." He was getting fed up with Cuddy whining about how House wasn't even treating his own patients. "Looks like it's working, too", he grumbled under his breath.  
Cameron and Chase exchanged glances, each wanting to be as far away from the Dean of Medicine as humanly possible.  
Minutes later, they were striding quickly away from Cuddy's office. They were too afraid to look back; Cuddy might have forgotten to bitch at them even more. Not like that was even possible.  
"Goddammit. Why isn't House here? I can do without him, but I can also do without the constant screaming from Cuddy."  
"Careful, you're beginning to sound like her", Chase smiled.

Knock Knock.  
Silence.  
"House! Open up!"  
No answer.  
"House!"  
It took Cuddy only a few seconds to pick the lock to House's apartment. She stepped inside and half expected House to be there, telling her to leave him alone and that he had been ignoring her for a reason.  
But what she found made her stop cold. House was sprawled on the floor, an empty bottle of Vicodin near his open hand, uncapped. Cuddy could not register this.  
House was dead.


	2. Tears

Beep Beep. The sound of House's heart monitor and his shallow breathing were the only disruptions of the sad silence in hospital room 28C. No one had breathed a word for hours. No one dared to break the melancholy mood. And no one wanted to. It took many hours, but sometime past eleven, the electric blue eyes of Gregory House blinked open. They searched the room, finding Cuddy sitting on the couch with her head in her hands and the ducklings staring at him worriedly.

Well, that wasn't entirely accurate. The first duckling, Chase, looked more relieved than anything and the second, Cameron, was glaring at him as if she would swallow him whole right then. It was honestly a little unnerving. House knew he'd be in for it later. As for the third duckling, Foreman, well he did look worried.

None of their expressions did anything to comfort House. He sighed heavily and turned his head so he was looking out the window and onto PPTH's campus. He had to hide the look of disappointment and hopelessness that had etched itself onto his handsome face.

He hadn't come. House hadn't really expected him to either. He didn't blame him. If he was going to be totally honest with himself, then he would've admitted that Wilson was gone forever.

"YOU IDIOT!"

House jerked around to see a very angry Dr. Wilson running to side bed. And for the first time in a long while, House cried.


	3. A Small War to Win

"Failing liver, ascending paralysis…" House was busy scribbling symptoms on the whiteboard. "No guesses? I thought that was what doctors were supposed to do. Ya know, find the cause of those symptom thingies." He scowled.

Cameron hadn't met his gaze since that night in the hospital room. Foreman rolled his eyes. At least he's still acting like normal, House thought. As for Chase, well, he was shaking his head, which was being held between his hands. House thought he saw him smirk.

"Fine, lunch break. But you all better be doctors when you get back in here. One hour. Make it a quick one." House watched as the ducklings filed out the door and down the corridor.

Chase was almost laughing. "Only a day after trying to kill himself and he's already griping about everything. That is so like him." He put on a very light attitude towards the whole event, but Chase was very, very glad that House was doing well. Yes, House was a pain in the ass, but he had some quality that Chase found kind of interesting. Irony? Possibly.

The ducklings decided to all take their break at the café across the street. This way, they could discuss the situation of last night, as well as put together some ideas about the diagnosis. No one wanted a grumpy House, although that was very hard not to have.

Wilson followed House to a table in the hospital cafeteria and sat down across from him. House was getting stares from every doctor in the room and Wilson could tell House was embarrassed about it. "Are you sure you want to eat in here? I mean, we could always go somewhere else?" An embarrassed House was always something that Wilson had wanted to see, but since the second he had, his heart went out to House. Of course House deserved humility; a hell of a lot of it. Still, Wilson couldn't stand to see his best friend so upset.

"No. It's fine in here", came House's grouchy reply.

Wilson sighed. House had declined because he didn't want anyone to think that he was a normal human being just like them. He would just have to rephrase the question and make it sound like they could eat somewhere else without House's discomfort being the cause.

"I have paperwork to do. I have to go to my office anyways. Join me?" That sounded much better.

"Sure."

Score one for Wilson.


	4. A Simple Explanation

House reached over and grabbed the other half of Wilson's ham and cheese sandwich that was lying on the oncologist's desk. No one would disturb them in here.

"So, where's that paperwork?" House questioned, raising an eyebrow at Wilson.

Wilson looked confused at first, until it dawned on him. "Oh, uh… I, um…"

House grinned. "Thanks." It was a whispered word, but it was said nonetheless.

Coming from House, it was a big compliment. House was, to say the least, not a generous or thankful person. Wilson knew how much that one small word meant. He also knew he'd better not point that out. He wanted to stay as close to the older doctor as humanly possible. Sometimes, even inhumanly possible.

After the events of the previous night, he knew he could never ever leave again, even if he wanted to. Wilson showed his true emotions plainly on his handsome face. But House… House was an enigma. Sure, Wilson knew many things about the doctor that no one else knew. But he still had yet to crack the code that was House.

Wilson's heart had broken in two when he'd seen House in that cold hospital bed, wires connecting him to a number of machines. House's face had been wearied and worn with sorrow. Wilson knew that House knew exactly what he had felt then, and now. But what was House feeling?

"House, as much as I know you absolutely HATE hearing these words, we need to talk."

Wilson knew the response he would inevitably get. "There's nothing to talk about, Wilson. You're back, I'm conscious, and my patient's only half dead."

Wilson took a deep breath and began. "There are so many things I want to ask you… I doubt you'll answer even one, but I have to know, House. So many…" His voice faded.

Silence. Wilson had expected House to object or walk out. But the diagnostician simply sat on the couch, looking out the window, watching the beautiful snowflakes drift ever downwards. He looked so peaceful. He seemed at peace, at least for the moment. It probably wouldn't last long once the questions started.

"Why did you try to… to… um, kill yourself?"

Wilson let House take his time in answering. If he wanted an answer, he would have to wait. And he was fine with that. Patience was a virtue one perfected when they spent as much time around House as Wilson did.

Minutes passed as the two doctors, the two friends, sat, gazing at snowfall, descending, spinning, onto the banks below.

Without turning, House answered.


	5. The 97 Second Vision

"Wilson, I know that I have been, well, like this for many years. I have been pushing and pushing this, um, relationship, for a very long time." House paused.

This cannot possibly be easy for him. But it certainly is true, Wilson thought.

"I never thought that it would actually break one day. But it did. And you left me. I haven't had the most promising life. Being a cripple, drug addiction, and the like. But I've always been able to count on the one thing that I was blessed with to be there. You. But like all good things, I somehow managed to ruin that, too.

My life has barely meant anything to me, and probably nothing to everyone else. Yes, I pretend to be content with everything, to be in control of everything around me. I may have fooled people, but I could never fool myself. My life, my every accomplishment, meant nothing to me without the one thing that I truly cared about being there.

I can understand if you don't believe me. Why should you? For years I have been like this. Why should I suddenly start over? I can only hope with what's left of my heart that you can find it in you to… forgive me."

Wilson stared at House in disbelief. What had he just said? It was so… un-House-like. It wasn't true. House was lying, like he always did. Wilson's brain told him this was the only explanation. But when he looked at House, Wilson knew. He knew House was telling the truth. House had just spilled all his secrets into his lap. HOUSE! House had made himself vulnerable, just for him.

If it hadn't been under such circumstances, Wilson would've been so proud of himself. Instead, he just sat, waiting to see if House was finished. He wanted to hear so much more. He wanted to say so much more.

House spoke again.

"That night… the one with the knife, and the-" House couldn't finish.

"If you mean the night where you stuck that knife in that electric outlet…" Wilson's voice was dry and scornful. He knew he should comfort House, but he couldn't stop himself from sounding angry at the idea of his best friend trying to – almost – kill himself.

House nodded slowly. "You asked… you asked what I'd seen. You know, after the shock."

Was he finally going to tell him? Wilson had spent so many nights trying to guess at what the older doctor had experienced. What secrets lay beyond this material life? Was there really a place where everything was perfect? Oh, Wilson could only hope.

"Well, this is what I saw."


	6. Love is a Cliche Thing

"Everything was gone. There was nothing. Except for me. Cliché, I know." House smiled sadly. Wilson could not believe House was finally telling him this. House was opening up to him. Wilson had never been so happy in his life.

"But…" House trailed off again. His eyes were sad. Genuinely sad. A sight uncommon in House.

"My leg, it didn't hurt. Nothing hurt. I felt… good. There was no weight. All material things didn't matter anymore. It was just me. But then…"

_Please, please just tell me House!_ Wilson tried to stop from blurting it out. _Patience, have patience._

"Then you were there. I don't know how, or why. But you were just… there. Just you and me. Everything was perfect. I mean, there wasn't much there to BE perfect, but whatever.

We never spoke. You smiled. You smiled that infamous smile of yours. And then you laughed. It was then that I finally figured it out. I knew.

I love you, Wilson."


	7. The Aftermath

Wilson didn't move, didn't speak, didn't think for a full minute. When House's words finally registered, Wilson blinked. He realized that House was observing him very carefully. He got it now. House had said all that because he wanted to know how Wilson would react. He hadn't meant any of it; it was just to spy on him. Get inside his head. Screw with him. And it had worked. Wilson had fallen for it. He really was an idiot. You would think that after- how many?- years with House, Wilson would brighten up to his ridiculous tricks. But Wilson always fell for them, because he had fallen for House.

It was the routine that would never change. It had existed for all these years, and even through all the drama, still it stood. House would whine, bitch, complain, and ruin something perfect. Wilson would always scold him for it. House would trick Wilson. And Wilson would avoid him for a few days. But in the end, Wilson was always right behind House to catch him when he fell. Every time.

Wilson needed needy. And House sure as hell was needy. Wilson stuck to House like House stuck to Vicodin. House would push him further and further away. Experimenting. When would Wilson snap? When would he finally walk out, having had enough? When was Wilson's breaking point?

Wilson didn't know. He feared the answer. He had tried to escape House, many times. It never worked; he always came running back. Deep down, Wilson knew he always would. House would never be able to push him away, try as he might. This was the routine.

But this was something new. House would say the most outrageous things, either for the shock value, or to get an answer. But why would House say _this_? What was House hoping to learn from Wilson's reaction?

House sighed. Looking out Wilson's window, he stood slowly, and walked out the door.


	8. Hallucinations and The Downfall

The rest of the day was relatively uneventful. Even if it had been, Wilson doubted he would've noticed. He had not even caught a glimpse of the diagnostician since the occurrence in his office, hours ago. The first sign that House was avoiding him was that even during lunch, House was nowhere to be seen. House always sat with Wilson, stealing the fries off his plate. Today he didn't.

_Why would he be avoiding me,_ Wilson thought, _if all he wanted was to judge my reaction?_ Perhaps there was something I missed, something more. Wilson almost immediately dismissed the thought that House had been slightly serious. Almost. House was a strange character.

Lunch passed. No House. And the afternoon, when House would barge into Wilson's office, plop down onto his couch, and deliver all his exciting news. No House. Sometime, late in the evening, Wilson thought he glimpsed House limping down a hallway, but when he ran to look, there wasn't anyone there.

_Was he hallucinating? Had House slipped him something?_ No, that was ridiculous. But that would explain a lot. If House had drugged him early this morning, then House confessing his love to him could've been a hallucination. And everything since then. Only one way to find out. Wilson drove himself home in silence. Arriving at his comfy apartment, Wilson snuggled beneath the covers, and promptly fell asleep.

When he woke up, House was sitting on his bed. "So, you're finally awake, huh?" _How did House get in?_ Wait, don't answer that. Wilson looked suspiciously at House. "So, what do you want to do?"

_What the hell was House talking about?_ Wilson glanced over at his alarm clock. "God damn it, House! It's 3:30 in the morning. What the hell do you want?"

House pouted, faking hurt feelings. "Well, if you don't want me here…" House's rough voice faded out. He slid off the bed and trudged over to Wilson's open balcony. Wilson watched in confusion. Surely House was going to give some sort of maniacal reason for appearing at his house in the early hours of the morning.

House stood in the cold New Jersey breeze. It chilled him, but he closed his eyes and revelled in it. Wilson watched. It was these rare moments when Wilson saw the real House inside. House slowly opened his eyes, reluctant to let the reality take sovereignty of him. Still looking peaceful and serene, House began to stand on the thin rail that divided Wilson's apartment from the dark snaking streets stories below.

What the hell was he doing? Wilson wondered, frightened. After his close suicide with Vicodin, only days before, Wilson wasn't taking any chances. "House…" Wilson warned, his voice edged with caution and fear. House was standing fully upright on the railing now. _Oh God_. House remained silent, but the ghost of a sad, weary smile was shown upon his face. And with that last, silent goodbye, House fell.


	9. Faces

Wilson jumped up in his bed, sweat flooding his body, his brown hair plastered to his flushed face. Letting his heart slow, Wilson sat upright, panting heavily. It was just a nightmare. He had to tell himself more than once; the image of that last reflection of a smile frozen on House's face still echoed through his mind.

What had prompted such a night terror? Dreams were said to be the unconscious brain's way of remembering information and piecing it together, right? That's all it was. House's previous attempt at suicide had been lurking in the back of his mind, and this was his brain's way of letting it out. Still, it had been so lifelike.

Wilson tried to go back to sleep, but vision of House falling into perpetual darkness haunted him. Wilson knew what he had to do.

House woke up around 6:00. Just enough time to get ready, which, for House, meant throwing on whatever was lying on top of his dresser, and brushing his teeth. Stretching, House climbed out of bed. Glancing around his bedroom, he was startled to find a very adorable Wilson asleep in the chair beside his bed. How had Wilson gotten in here? And why was he here?

House tiptoed into the kitchen. Trying to make a little noise possible, House grabbed an apple out of the fridge. An apple a day keeps the doctors away. And with all the pesky doctors that bugged him daily at Princeton Plainsboro, namely a Dr. Cameron, he sure needed that apple. House hoped he wouldn't wake Wilson; having Wilson run into Cuddy after being late for work would be almost as funny as it would be watching him try to explain why he was late. What would he say? Uh, I was busy sleeping in House's chair, after I burglared my way into his apartment.

Unfortunately for House, Wilson appeared from behind the fridge door. "Oh, um, good morning House." That was it? House cocked his eyebrows at the oncologist. The best answer House could give himself was that Wilson was paying him back for something he had done to him, God knows what. Another reasonable guess was that Wilson wanted to discuss what House had told late last night; that he loved him. But in that case, Wilson wouldn't just be standing there, yawning, and looking rather bored. What was he waiting for? Surely he knew House better than to think that House would actually _ask_ what he was doing here.

Getting impatient, House shoved Wilson aside, making his way to the door. He wasn't one to wait for anything; he did thing on his own schedule. "Coming?" he questioned to Wilson. Wilson just nodded, following right behind him.

The ride to PPTH was quiet, but uncomfortably, awkwardly quiet. Just peaceful. If Wilson wanted to talk, then he would talk. House drove on in silence, with Wilson looking out the window, staring blankly at the blurry scenery.

Wilson and House nearly ran into Cuddy while they strolled through the glass doors of PPTH. "Oh, sorry Wilson. House", she quickly apologized, before doing a double take. She looked questioningly at them. Wilson and House, walking side by side into work. They must've taken driven together. But why? "Um…" House and Wilson both guessed at her confusion. "I'll explain later." Wilson stated simply. And through the elevators the duo walked.

House made a mental note; keep an eye out on Wilson. House always was, it was just that he had a better motive today. Wilson had promised to tell Cuddy why he had been over at his place. If House wanted to find out, this was the best opportunity.

House barged into his office, such a familiar place. Thirteen jumped a bit, making Foreman give him a disdainful look. Taub looked indifferent to the arrival of his boss, but Kutner just grinned. Kutner was glad House was back. While their boss could be a complete jerk, he was admittedly funny. He had this sense of humor that Kutner admired. Kutner and Wilson saw a side of House that no one else did.

"Alright! No one more vacation. We've got the world to save!" Was House okay? Probably not. Picking up his favorite black dry erase marker, House scribbled barely-legible symptoms. "House, how do you know the symptoms of this patient? You haven't even looked at the files of all your cases", Thirteen remarked. It was true, House hadn't even noticed that there were a few manila envelopes stacked up on his desk.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you. When I died, I saw this light. And this angel came down upon me and said, 'Dude, I hereby grant you psychic powers!'" Thirteen was staring at him, mouth slightly open, in shock. Foreman and Taub just rolled their eyes. Kutner snickered. House suddenly put on his serious face. "Seriously, though."

House whistled while the team read the white board. It was very entertaining to watch each of their facial expressions whenever they were working diagnoses over in their heads. Thirteen would tighten her eyebrows, mouth taught as well. So serious. Foreman would lean back slowly and cross his arms over his chest, absolutely no expression on his face whatsoever. So impassive. Taub would sigh and look like this was not at all the thing he wanted to be doing at that moment. He would frown slightly and lean his chin on his fist. So bored. Kutner would study the words attentively, eyes roaming, sometimes muttering them silently to himself over and over again. So worried.

House chuckled to himself. His new ducklings were so much more entertaining than the last batch. Not that the old ducklings were boring, they just kind of wore off on House. He had found himself predicting every word, every action of theirs, before they even did. At that moment, House glimpsed Wilson moving down the hallway. House pushed himself up on his cane; time to follow the oncologist. Was he going to Cuddy?

"Well, you all know how to find me when you finally wipe those stupid looks off you faces." The ducklings snapped out of their trace, looking at House perplexingly. House just left them there, with even dumber looks on their faces.


End file.
